


We Forgot Even the Rain

by mazily



Category: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-22
Updated: 2016-10-22
Packaged: 2018-08-24 01:39:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,450
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8351302
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mazily/pseuds/mazily
Summary: After we died--That was it!--God left us in the dark.And as we forgot the dark, we forgot even the rain.--Agha Shahid AliOr: Kira Nerys and Kasidy Yates, after the war.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [cosmic_llin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/cosmic_llin/gifts).



> Thanks to L. for the kick in the you-know-what.

Too ripe fruit and the sun hovering just above the horizon, soft dirt and grass beneath her. Nerys lets the morning seep into her skin--summer heat, open air, the smell of fermenting moba--grateful after so many years spent trapped between bleak Cardassian walls.

She prays. No temple or shrine in sight, flat on her back with her face to the sky. Flies buzz around everywhere, echoing her prayers like a congregation. One lands on her arm, and her finger twitches. She does not flick it away. It's been four years since the Prophets last appeared, two days since she packed up her last box on Deep Space Nine and came home to take her place on the newly reformed Council.

She opens her hands, turns her palms to the sun.

*

"Did I tell you about--" Kasidy stops herself mid-sentence. Shakes her head, laughs. "No, I promised myself I wouldn't be one of those mothers who can only talk about their children, and I've already spent all afternoon doing just that. Tell me something about you."

Nerys turns her head. Watches Kasidy twist a piece of sweetgrass around her finger, squinting against the midday sun. "What the hell was I thinking?" she asks. "I'm not cut out for politics. It's practically a miracle that I've only hit one person so far -- and he tried to throw the first punch." She kicks off her shoes. Plants her feet against the ground, back against a tree. Grounding herself in native soil.

Kasidy snorts. "Oh god, what  _ were  _ you thinking?" she says. She opens a bag and starts pulling out their lunch: mapa bread and cheese and something green Nerys thinks might be Betazoid in origin. 

"Hey!" Nerys says. She pushes Kasidy's shoulder, laughs when Kasidy teeters and pretends to fall before pushing back. They tussle for a while, rolling around on the ground with wide open laughs. Nerys's mouth hurts from smiling when they finally calm down: forced into quiet by the gentle stab of a spoon against Nerys's thigh.

Nerys sits back down, legs crossed and back straight. She tears a piece off the loaf of bread. Puts it in her mouth and closes her eyes. "So wait," she says, "You never did tell me how you lost all those papers I sent you."

"Apparently Rebecca learned how to deprogram Padds while I wasn't looking," Kasidy says. "She deleted the contents off everything on my desk the last time I left her alone with Jake."

"I'm honestly not sure if that means she takes after Benjamin or after you," Nerys says. She tears a piece off the loaf of bread. Puts it in her mouth and closes her eyes.

Kasidy laughs. "Both of us, probably," she says.

Nerys can hear the smile in Kasidy's voice, can see the crinkles at the corners of her eyes projected on the back of her eyelids. Her bread is slightly sour, salty and nutty. She presses it against the back of her teeth with her tongue. Chews, swallows.

"You're probably right," she says.

"I usually am," Kasidy says.

A beat, and Nerys joins her in reciting, "And someday Rebecca will believe me when I tell her that." A familiar refrain, often repeated on their once-weekly comm calls. Sing-song and half a prayer in itself.

They focus on their lunch after that. Pack up--Nerys takes the blanket; Kasidy grabs the leftover food and sticks it in her bag--and go their separate ways.

*

The Vedek speaks about loss, about remembrance, about grief turning to hope like night turns to day. Nerys listens. Thinks that outside the Temple the sky is still dark, with hints of palest pink near the edges. That her legs are tired. Her arms just the right kind of sore. The Vedek reminds them that the Prophets will appear when the time is right; until then, they must have faith. Nerys shifts from one leg to the other, careful not to make any noise. 

*

Rain pounds against the windows. Percussive and persistent, hollow-sounding and unending. Nerys sits down next to Kasidy on the couch and steals half of the blanket, pulling it over her legs. Upstairs, a door slides open and tiny footsteps cross the hallway. The bathroom light switches on.

"She has trouble sleeping," Kasidy says. She tilts her chin toward the light on the second floor. "She--" Kasidy pauses. Inches closer to Nerys, until their thighs and knees are touching, and listens as Rebecca shuffles back across the corridor and into her own room. She takes a deep breath. Her fingers twitch along the edge of the blanket, fingering the stitching. "He visits her," she says.

"Who?" Nerys asks. 

She turns her body toward Kasidy, her knee over Kasidy's thigh. Leans forward. Leans in. Kasidy tenses; only for a moment, but Nerys feels it up and down her entire body. She reaches out and places her hand on Kasidy's. Runs her thumb along Kasidy's wrist.

"Benjamin," Kasidy says.

"Oh," Nerys says. "That's. Does she--" She doesn't know where to begin, which of a million questions to ask. Her head spins, and she rests it against the back of the couch. Tries to stop her thoughts for just one second.

"Know who he is?" Kasidy says. "Of course. He's her father. She loves him."

"He loves her," Nerys says.

"He loves her. She loves him. Their relationship is what it is. Hell, it's all she's ever known."

Kasidy pauses. Listens for any sounds coming from upstairs. Her eyes look damp, teary, red. Nerys threads their fingers together and waits. "But does she really understand why her father can't be there every day? I don't know. I can't honestly say I always understand, and I'm an adult."

"He's a good father," Nerys says. She shrugs, suddenly on uneven footing. She has to make sure Kasidy knows that Nerys understands. That Nerys wants to be here anyway. "She'll never doubt that he loves her. Or that he's coming back just as soon as the Prophets can spare him."

"Now if only they'd invest in a couple of linear clocks," Kasidy says. She smiles. Starts to laugh, to cry, and Nerys pulls her closer. Wraps her arms around Kasidy's body and holds her as tightly as she can.

*

Her shrine is small, practical. Nerys lights the candles and studies the icon behind the altar. The Prophets no longer answer prayers, but they will again. Nerys knows that in her bones. In her blood, her heart, her pagh. The Prophets will appear, and Benjamin will return. 

She lifts her arms and begins to pray. The will of the Prophets be done.

*

"It's freezing," Kasidy says.

"It's not," Nerys counters. A blast of wind rattles through the valley, shaking barren trees and burning the skin of Nerys's cheeks. She wraps her arms around herself. Hops: once twice, and laughs. "Okay, fine," she says, "It's freezing, let's head back."

She reaches out and grasps Kasidy's hand in her own. Tugs. They run back to the transport station with their hands linked, giggling like the kind of children who finally play on Bajoran playgrounds: happy, carefree, young. The air is cold enough to make Nerys's teeth sting, and her mouth feels dry and cracked. They tumble into the empty station, hysterical and almost giddy, skin tingling at the sudden warmth.

The air feels electric. Nerys reaches up to pat down her hair, suddenly certain that it's standing on end. Kasidy's hands join hers, gentle and soothing. Nerys knows she should look away. Instead she drops her hands. Cautiously places them on Kasidy's hips.

She blinks, and Kasidy's hands are still in her hair. Pulling just this side of too hard. The wall is solid against her back. Kasidy leans forward: a centimeter, two, and Nerys meets her halfway. Chapped lips to chapped lips, chaste and still until Kasidy's tongue slips out to lick the corner of her own lip.

Nerys's hands flutter. She pulls off her gloves, itchy and desperate for skin--the heat of Kasidy's neck, the softness of her wrist where her coat and glove don't meet--and she surges into the kiss with everything she has.

*

The Prophets don't answer.

Nerys prays while Kasidy snores in the bed behind her, sheets rustling as she shifts and turns in her sleep. Tonight or next week or two years ago, a minute will gain an extra second and Benjamin will return. This moment, this lifetime, may never exist at all.

Nerys blows out the candles. The room is warm, and outside the open window the sky is starting to fade to morning. A nightbird chirps. Nerys slips back into bed and wraps herself around Kasidy's back.


End file.
